TRANSLATIONS Poetical Translation of the Introduction to Goethe's Faust ZUEIGNUNG Once more, O phantoms, ye are hovering near, Or let my heart to that illusion yield? Ye bring again the forms of other days; Come friendships and first love that never dies, The wild regret where life's sad error lies, And name the wise, the beautiful, the good, Who people now death's lonely solitude. Alas! No longer this belated song Is heard by those for whom at first I strung The olden yearning long unfelt I feel, The longing for the far-off spirit land; The weakness which the heart may not withstand; The things I have are sunk in gloom and night, And vanished forms revive before my sight. THE BROKEN VASE Translated from the French of Sully-Prudhomme A lady's dainty fan hath broken; Was unrevealed by any token. But still the thin and thread like fissure The falling drops, the fading bloom, Disclose at last the doom unspoken, And thus sometimes the hand we love And then the rift will widen out Until the flower of love lies low. Unnoticed by the world it weeps, The hidden wound so fine and deep The vase is broken-touch it not! "KENNST DU DAS BILD AUF ZARTEM GRUNDE?" (THE EYE) Knowest thou the picture soft of hue? Each moment changing to the view, Within the smallest frame enclosed; Without it e'er had been disclosed. Can'st thou to me the crystal name? Drinks in the boundless sphere of earth, Yet, though it drinks celestial rays; -Schiller. EINE LEICHENPHANTASIE A Funeral Dirge BY FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER With dead and pallid light Stands the moon above the grove tonight; The sighing spectre of the night creeps through the gloom; Planets hover Wild mists over, Pallid stars like lamps within the tomb; And The spirits dumb and wan and hollow, Wira sabie pomp, death's sad and dark array, And ning on his staff, lo one who passes by Whose bitter anguish speaks but in a broken cry, Sure vexed, whom iron fate betrays, Whose footsteps falter where the waving plumes are nigh Was it Father" sounded from the clammy lips! A his senses darken in a wild eclipse, Siver hair is streaming o'er that stricken frame. Turn again are all his wounds of flame, Pierced his soul with many a cruel dart; "Son." responded still the father's heart; Mild as surrounded by breathings of Heaven, Roseate perfumes as rained from the odorous even, chase, Through the fresh gardens of flowers where Flora was smiling, Fountains reflecting in silver the glow of his face, Seeming to laugh and rejoice Laughing at kisses to r Eager he sprang to the fe Heaven he flew through with courage elate and undying, High as an eagle in loftiest flight. Proud as a courser whose eyes gleam in splendour, Seeing the battle advancing with swiftness of wings, Scorning to rein or to rider to yield or surrender, Wandered he onward regardless of slaves or of Kings. Joyous as springtime, no shade on the dial, Flew life away as entranced as Hesper's soft glance; In the gay cup he forgot every care, every trial, Dashed away pain in the whirl of the dance. Worlds seemed to sleep in his promise of manhood, When the young bud to fullness shall ripen. Not so, father! Hark! The churchyard door is creaking; Press thou onward where a brighter morning glows, Quench thy noble thirst for pleasure and delight, O thou pain-delivered, in Valhalla's long repose. Heavenly thought that tells of other meeting, Here we stand like drunkards reeling, Lips are silent, eye to eye is calling Hold! the touch of grief our hearts is steeling- With dead and pallid light, Stands the moon above the grove to-night; The sighing spectre of the night creeps through the gloom; |